


Strive, Survive, Thrive

by cherryblossomwrites



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Burnout - Freeform, Gen, Harry being a good friend, Libraries, Lots of Tea, Mental Health Issues, Sort Of, and reading
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-17 13:41:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29101191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherryblossomwrites/pseuds/cherryblossomwrites
Summary: All her life, Hermione has been told that she'll achieve great things. And she's tried her best to do so, honestly, she has. But what happens when it all becomes too much? How is she meant to pick herself up when she can hardly get out of bed?
Kudos: 5





	Strive, Survive, Thrive

Lying in bed on Tuesday morning, Hermione feels the minutes tick by. She really should be getting up, she thinks to herself. Ron is already gone, left Grimmauld Place early to open the store.

She casts a tempus charm. If she gets ups now, she muses, she’ll still make it to work on time.

She doesn’t move.

The next time she casts the charm, she rationalises that she could still be on time, but only if she skips breakfast.

She continues to lie there, casting the occasional tempus charm, growing more and more frantic. Internally, she berates herself, wills herself to move.

And yet, she never gets up.

She casts one final charm, realises that her first meeting for the day has already started. With that, she gives up, sinks deeper into the mattress. It’s too late, she just won’t go in to work today.

Decision made, Hermione allows herself to doze.

It doesn’t last long though. She’s interrupted by a knock at the door.

“What?” she says, although it comes out largely unintelligible.

In response, the door is pushed open, and Harry is there, looking concerned.

“Aren’t you meant to be at work?” he asks.

“Not going,” she tells him.

“Why not?”

Hermione means to answer him, she does, but all that ends up happening is that she starts to cry.

Harry enters the room now, perching himself on the edge of her bed. “Hey, now,” he tells her, “it’s ok. Everyone needs a day off once in a while.”

Hermione nods, tries to get her crying under control, but to no avail.

Harry just sits and watches her, a vaguely helpless expression on his face.

“Sorry,” Hermione says eventually. “I don’t – ” She’s overcome by a fresh wave of tears.

Harry stands up. “No need to apologise,” he tells her. “I’ll just go owl your boss, tell her that you won’t be in.”

“Thank you.” The words come out as a whisper.

Harry is at the door now. “And I’ll bring you back a cup of tea,” he promises.

It takes three hours, two cups of tea and a desperate urge to pee before Hermione manages to get out of bed.

Harry had sat with her, silently, through the first cup of tea, but by the time she makes it downstairs, he’s engrossed in a book.

“There’s some breakfast in the kitchen,” he tells her, “under a heating charm.”

Hermione continues down to the basement kitchen where she finds the plate waiting for her. Despite her best efforts, she’s only able to eat two-thirds of it. Whatever is going on with her, it seems to be affecting her appetite as well.

The rest of the day passes slowly. More than anything, Hermione just wants to see Ron, but George now has him under observation at Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes, testing some inane product. Hermione can’t even muster up the energy to be annoyed at their foolish experiments.

Fortunately, Harry’s presence is a close second to Ron’s. This is especially true since he doesn’t pressure Hermione to talk about what’s happened. She appreciates his companionable silence.

The next day, Harry is tapping on her door just as she’s meant to be arriving at work.

“Another day off?” he asks.

It feels like the question itself should be enough to will her out of bed and out the door.

That doesn’t happen though.

“I think so,” she agrees.

“I’ll send the owl.”

This time, when he returns with tea, Hermione is already sitting up in bed.

“Should we talk about it today?” Harry asks as the teapot pours them each a cup of tea.

Hermione’s response is a cross between a hum of agreement and a groan. She’s not sure what she means by it.

Harry, bless his soul, doesn’t push her on it.

Hermione is halfway through her cup of tea before she manages to speak. “I don’t think I can do this anymore, Harry.”

“Do what?”

“All of this.” She thinks about it for a moment, tries to narrow down what it is that she’s really feeling. “I’m just so tired.”

Harry considers her for a moment, sipping his tea, before speaking. “Maybe you should take some time off, then,” he suggests. “A week or two.”

Hermione sits with the idea for a moment. It doesn’t feel great.

“Even just a few days?”

“No, it’s not that.” She sips at her tea.

“Then what is it?”

It takes some effort to say and, when she does, it comes out as barely more than a whisper. “I’m not sure I’ll ever go back.”

Harry manages to wipe the startled look off his face in a split second but, even still, Hermione spots it. “That’s ok,” he tells her. “But maybe you should just start with taking two weeks leave.”

Hermione wants to argue, but deep-down she knows that Harry is right. Chances are, at some stage soon, maybe even tomorrow, she’ll be eager to go back. Working at the Ministry has been a dream since she first learnt of its existence. She can’t throw all of that away now, just because she’s had a couple of bad days.

Harry breaks into her thoughts. “More tea?” he asks, levitating the teapot.

Hermione holds her cup out so he can top it up.

“And then maybe we can write to your boss,” Harry suggests.

The thought alone has Hermione ready to take a nap.

It’s mid-afternoon before Hermione is able to gather enough energy to write the letter. Even then, it takes a serious amount of cajoling from Harry to get it done.

However, by the time she’s three-quarters of the way through the letter, he seems to have decided that she’ll manage to finish it alone, as he disappears downstairs to the kitchen.

Several minutes later, she’s already lost momentum when Harry reappears with a tray bearing tea and cake.

“I figured you could do with an incentive,” he explains.

As he places the tray down, Hermione reaches for a piece of cake. Harry raises an eyebrow at her, a look she knows that she’s given him many times before.

“Have you finished writing?” he asks.

Hermione retracts her hand and picks her quill back up. As she reads the last sentence she wrote over and over again, a mug of tea is placed beside her.

Across the table from her, Harry is seated with his own cup of tea and a large slice of cake. “Where are you up to?” he asks, gesturing towards the letter with his cake.

Hermione is about to answer him when there’s a tapping at the window. A regal owl sits there, looking expectant.

“Of course,” Harry says, exasperated, as he crosses the room towards the apparently familiar owl.

The owl is just hopping into the room when a second one arrives, pushing its way through the window and past the first owl. Harry removes the letter from this one first, quickly handing it to Hermione.

“For you,” he tells her.

She takes it, instantly recognising George’s chicken scratch. This can’t be good, she thinks to herself. With some trepidation, she opens the letter.

“ _Hermione, there’s been a bit of a mishap with your old man, so we’ll be holding onto him one more night. Nothing to worry about. George._ ”

Hermione thinks back to all of the other letters she’s received like this and the incidents they referred to – the pink eyebrows, the animated nose, the rapidly growing body hair. Each time, she’d sent back angry replies, demanding information and threatening to go down there. Right now, though, it seems like too much effort. Who really cares if Ron has ears the size of dinnerplates?

“Alright?” Harry asks her as she places the letter down.

“Only Ron,” she says. “Won’t be home tonight.” She catches sight of Harry’s letter, addressed in elegant script but still unopened. “What about yours?” she asks, pointing at it.

“I get them every month,” Harry explains, scowling at it.

“Am I allowed to ask?”

Harry shrugs. “From the Department of Magical Law Enforcement,” he explains. “They want me to become an auror.”

“And they ask you every month?”

Harry seems agitated now, drumming his fingers on the table. “I never reply. Don’t know what to tell them.”

“Surely it’s a yes or no question?”

“I suppose.” He taps a finger on Hermione’s letter. “Come on, you need to get this finished.”

With the conversation apparently over, Hermione focusses back on the writing. Eventually, she manages to get two more sentences written and determines that it’s good enough. Harry, reading it upside down, agrees and he takes it for her and mails it off.

By the time they’ve finished their tea and cake, Hermione has a reply, agreeing that she can have two weeks of leave.

To celebrate, she goes and has a nap.

The remainder of the day and the majority of the next one are spent in a lazy perusal of Harry’s library. There’s a small, eclectic collection of novels which Hermione mostly manages to get herself lost in. She’s not sure that she can remember the last time she read a work of fiction.

As she reads, she makes her way around the house, following the sun’s journey. Harry does much the same, the two of them like cats, seeking out the warmth. Hermione wonders if he spends all his days like this, mooching around the house, but she hardly dares to ask. Besides, she has enough problems of her own at the moment, no need to take his on as well.

Ron arrives home late Thursday afternoon. When he comes clomping into the conservatory, where Hermione and Harry are wordlessly sharing their latest pot of tea, Hermione instantly regrets not contacting George. Every visible inch of Ron’s skin is blistering and peeling.

“What happ- ” she begins.

“Wizarding take on tan in a can,” Ron explains. “Only it seemed to know that redheads just burn.”

“Oh dear,” Hermione sympathises, while Harry summons another mug for Ron.

“Have you been home long?” Ron asks her.

Hermione glances over at Harry. “I’ve been off work for the last three days.”

Instantly, Ron is crouching down in front of her, a grave look of concern on his face. “What happened?” he asks. “Are you ok? Are you sick?”

“Not sick,” Hermione tells him, placing a placating hand over the one he’s put on her knee. “At least, I don’t think so. I don’t really know what’s going on.”

“Have you been to St Mungo’s?”

Hermione shakes her head. “It’s not like that, Ron.”

Ron doesn’t seem so convinced. “Are you sure? I really think you should – ”

Hermione is relieved when Harry interrupts him. “She just needs a break, Ron.”

“Oh.”

“My boss has agreed I can have two weeks off,” Hermione adds.

“I see.” He stares up at her, studying her face. “And you’re sure you’re ok? It’s just – it’s not like you, Hermione.”

The sound she makes is a cross between a scoff and a laugh. “I’m well aware of that.”

Fortunately, Ron doesn’t take the bitter tone personally. Standing up, he points at his face, the peeling skin. “I should probably go and find some moisturiser for this,” he says. “Since we’ve already discovered that magic won’t fix it.”

Given her perpetual tiredness, Hermione is already dozing by the time that Ron comes to bed. The dipping of the mattress is enough to wake her though and she stares blearily at him as he slips under the covers and turns to face her.

For long moments, he stares back at her before running fingers through her hair, pushing it out of her eyes. “Should I be worried about you?” he asks. The look in his eyes make it clear that he already is.

“I don’t know,” Hermione tells him. “I really don’t know how long this feeling will last.”

“What feeling?”

“Like it’s all too much.” She thinks for a moment, tries to narrow it down. “Like I can’t be this person anymore. Can’t live up to these expectations. This pressure.”

“Then don’t.”

“Don’t?”

“Yea.” He props himself up on one elbow, forcing Hermione to tilt her head to look at him. “Who cares what people expect of you? It’s not their life. They don’t get to make those decisions for you.”

“You think I should just throw this all away?”

“I think you should do what makes you happy.” He quirks an awkward little smile. “And if that doesn’t involve throwing me away, that would be great.”

Hermione smiles back. “I could never,” she tells him. “You will always make me happy.”

Ron’s smile is more genuine this time. “So it’s just the job that’s the issue, right?”

“Right,” Hermione agrees. “Although, with all the hours I work, it feels bigger than just a job.”

Once again, Ron just watches her for long moments. Then, he bends down to kiss the top of her head. “I’m really proud of you for doing this,” he tells her.

“Doing what?” she asks, confused.

“Taking stock,” he explains. “Not forcing yourself to do something you can’t handle.”

“That’s a nice way of viewing skiving off work.”

“I’m serious,” Ron says, in a way that brokers no argument. “Now get some sleep.”

And she does. Even before the room is plunged into darkness, she’s already drifting off.

“Might go out today,” Hermione tells Harry as they sit at the dining table on Friday, sharing their first cup of tea for the day.

“Oh?” He sounds so casual as he says it, but Hermione knows she’s caught him by surprise.

“Just to the library,” she explains.

Harry’s voice takes on a tone of mock outrage. “My books aren’t good enough for you?”

“There aren’t many options,” Hermione counters.

“Fair enough. So you’re going into the Ministry, then?”

“Merlin, no.” The Ministry library is good, Hermione’s spent enough time there to know that’s true. But she really can’t bear the thought of going there, not today. Besides, she can’t imagine they have many books in the fiction section.

“So the public library, then?”

Hermione shrugs. “Figure there’s a first time for everything.”

She apparates there just after lunch, landing in a quiet wizarding street, outside a dilapidated building. She pushes her way inside, coming to a standstill just inside the dimly lit room.

The library has been extended as far as magic will allow, but even still, it’s too small. There are too many books here – Hermione is mildly amused to realise that there’s such a thing as too many books – and most of them seem to be piled on the issuing desk. Hermione makes her way over.

“Good morning,” comes a voice from behind the stacks of books.

“Hello,” Hermione replies, deciding not to bring attention to the fact that it’s now afternoon. “Can I sign up for a library card?”

“Of course, dear, of course.” A pile of books is levitated off the desk and the face of a squat old witch appears in the gap. “Just let me find the form.”

Hermione waits while Lillian – that’s what her nametag says – digs through the drawers before finally muttering a harried ‘ _accio form_ ’. The form flies down from the top of a pile of books, landing on the desk between them.

“Here you go dear,” Lillian tells her, producing a quill and inkpot as she speaks.

Hermione fills the form in, fighting back a sneeze caused by the now unsettled dust. She just wants to get her books and get out of here. The lack of care these books have received is making her uncomfortable.

When she gives the form back to Lillian, she’s given a library card in return.

“Let me know if you need any help,” Lillian tells her. “I’ll be around.”

Hermione makes a beeline for the fiction section and immediately starts browsing. Whenever a book catches her attention, she uses wordless magic to remove the worst of the dust before picking it up. It’s not long before she has an armful of books. She decides she’d better call it quits before she ends up with more books than she can carry.

She returns to the issuing desk. Lillian has cleared a larger space in preparation by making the other stacks even higher. Hermione has suspicions that the desk isn’t used for its intended purpose very often.

“Did you find everything?” Lillian asks her as she places the books and library card down.

“Yes, thank you.”

Lillian runs her wand over the library card and then each of the books in turn. After a final tap of her wand, she pushes the pile back towards Hermione. “There you go, dear, due back in three weeks.”

Hermione picks the books back up. “Thank you so much.” She leaves the building without a backwards glance at the poor neglected books she’s left behind.

Hermione’s only goal for the weekend is to read as many of her books as possible. This proves difficult with Ron always hovering nearby, watching her with big concerned eyes. She persists though.

She begs off the weekly Saturday dinner at the Burrow, meaning that she has Grimmauld Place all to herself. She runs a bath and settles in with her book and some Chinese takeout. She uses charms to maintain the warmth and the bubbles. When Ron and Harry return home, she’s still submerged in the water.

Ron knocks at the bathroom door. “You ok in there?” he asks.

“I’m fine,” Hermione calls back.

“Can I come in?”

“Yea.”

He does so, coming to perch on the edge of the bath. He trails his fingers through the water. Neither of them speak.

Ron’s hand finds its way to her leg – a leg that she hasn’t shaved all week. To his credit, this doesn’t put him off. He continues to run his hand over her shin.

“Water feels nice,” Ron says eventually.

“Yea,” Hermione agrees. “You can get in if you want.”

“Are you – ”

“It’s not going to lead to anything,” she continues. “Only a bath.”

In answer, Ron begins to undress himself, removing his shirt before standing up and shucking off his trousers and pants. It isn’t long before he’s settling down at the opposite end of the bath. Water sloshes out onto the ground.

“Probably should have seen that coming,” Ron says.

“Mmm,” Hermione agrees. She can’t bring herself to do anything about it, just stares down at the wet floor.

Ron leans out of the bath to retrieve his wand from his trouser pocket. He casts a spell and the floor is dry again.

“Thanks,” Hermione tells him.

“No problem.” He lets his wand clatter back to the floor, then sinks back under the water until only his head is exposed. “You missed a really great roast,” he tells her.

“Sorry I couldn’t go.”

His hand lands on her foot, settled near his hip. “It’s ok, Hermione,” he insists. “You don’t need to keep apologising for everything.”

“But I feel bad for worrying you.”

Ron shakes his head. “It’s just how it goes. I know you’ve spent more than enough time worrying about me.”

Hermione smiles slightly. She does have to concede that point.

“Seriously, Hermione. You don’t have to be so concerned about the rest of us. Just focus on yourself.”

“Ok.”

Silence falls again, a comfortable silence built on years of knowing each other. They don’t move until they agree that maybe it’s time for bed.

By Monday afternoon, Hermione is onto the last of her library books. Having made a pot of tea, she returns to the conservatory to find Harry looking through the already read pile. He looks up, expression guilty, as she enters.

“You can read them, if you want,” she tells him, pouring them each a cup of tea.

He smiles, small and tight, before returning his attention to the back cover of one of the books.

Hermione places his cup down on the table beside him, before settling into her chair and sipping her own tea. Watching Harry, she’s reminded of a question that’s been nagging at her. “What do you normally do all day?” she asks. “When I’m not around, I mean.”

Harry shrugs without looking up.

Hermione reaches out, placing her hand on the stack of books, long enough to divert Harry’s attention. “I’m serious,” she tells him. “It seems like you might be bored out of your skull.”

“I am,” Harry admits after long moments.

“So why don’t you do something about it?”

“Like what?” Harry asks. “Become an auror? Return to my role as the Chosen One?” He gives a hollow laugh. “You know how miserable I was during that year after the war.”

And she does – she remembers it well. The way Harry was paraded around day after day after day. How he gradually withdrew into himself more and more at home. The moment that Ron had suggested that maybe enough was enough, maybe he should step back from the limelight.

Hermione shakes her head now. “Not that,” she tells him. “Maybe just a project of some sort. Something to stop you moping around the house.”

“I’m not the one – ” Harry bursts out before cutting himself off with a shake of his head. “Never mind.”

“Will you think about it?” Hermione asks, relishing how forthright she sounds.

Harry nods his agreement.

“And do you think you should turn down the auror role?” she continues. “Since you clearly don’t want it.”

Harry sighs. “Probably,” he agrees before returning his attention to the library books.

Hermione returns to the library at mid-morning the next day. She’s officially finished all of her books, and Harry has decided that none of them are in his wheelhouse.

There’s no sign of a return box, but there’s just enough space on the issuing desk for Hermione to place her small pile of books down. Lillian appears from the mess behind her desk and casts her wand over the books, returning them. She then levitates the books, looking worriedly at the massive stacks surrounding her.

Hermione grabs the books out of the air before Lillian can topple any of the piles over. “I’ll just reshelve them for you,” she tells the librarian.

“Thank you, dear,” Lillian tells her with a smile. “I’m not really able to do that, these days.”

That would probably explain the state of the place, Hermione muses to herself as she makes her way towards the fiction section. She wonders how long returned books have been gathering on that desk for.

Shelving the books is quick work, largely because they all came from one small section of shelving. Ready to browse now, Hermione makes her way to a different row of novels. It doesn’t take long until she has another stack of books, including two that she thinks Harry might enjoy.

Lillian is once again waiting for her when she reaches the issuing desk.

“Do you work here alone?” Hermione asks as Lillian checks her books out.

Lillian nods. “They say they don’t have the funds to hire someone else.”

Of course they’d say that, Hermione thinks to herself. No doubt the Ministry had no issue justifying it to themselves.

“But I can mostly manage,” Lillian continues. “At least, it could be worse.”

There isn’t really anything to say to that, so Hermione just gathers her newly issued books and bids Lillian farewell.

And if she spends the rest of the day pondering how to solve this problem, well, who can blame her?

Harry was grateful when Hermione handed him his books yesterday, and he spent the better part of yesterday afternoon reading one. He still has it propped open now, but when Hermione looks up from her own book, she finds him staring across the sitting room, forehead creased with a frown. The last of the morning sun has disappeared, and the room is once again dark and gloomy – matching Harry’s expression.

“Sickle for your thoughts,” Hermione says after several long moments of this.

Harry stirs from his reverie. “I’ve always hated the way Sirius’ mother styled this place,” he says slowly, glancing at her before continuing to look around the room. “I was just thinking that maybe I could redecorate.”

“Yea?”

“There must be some kind of magic that would allow more sunlight in.” He seems to mostly be speaking to himself.

“I’m sure there is,” Hermione says anyway. “I could research it, if you like.”

“I dunno – ” He pauses, considers her for a moment. “I mean, if you want, that would be good. Thanks.”

Hermione knows that he’s only agreeing because he thinks it will help her. That he considers it a good sign that she wants to research. She’s inclined to agree.

It also gives her a good excuse to go back to the library.

She arrives in the early afternoon, straight after lunch. She has to ask Lillian where to find the section she’s after, but when she gets there, she discovers there’s a lot to choose from. Even when she ignores the ones that are outdated.

She collects a small armful of books before finding a dusty table to sit at. After a long while of perusing, she’s narrowed the pile down to three books that seem useful. She returns the others to their shelf and takes her smaller pile to the issuing desk.

“I hope you don’t mind me asking,” she says, once Lillian has finished issuing her books, “but could I do some reshelving for you?”

Lillian’s entire face brightens. “Would you really?”

“Of course.”

By the time she returns to Grimmauld Place, Hermione has managed to clear a decent sized space on the desk. She returns the next day, and the day after that. Working for only an hour or two at a time, she eventually gets all of the books returned to their crowded shelves.

“I never thought I’d see the day,” Lillian says when Hermione returns to the now empty desk with her empty trolley.

“Is there anything else that I can help with?” Hermione asks.

Lillian purses her lips. “Maybe. But give me a couple of days to think about it. It’s a pretty big job and I don’t want to get started unless I’m sure we can do it properly.”

“Of course.”

As Hermione returns home, part of her wonders if she’s just overcommitted herself.

Harry has spent the past few days pouring over the books on magical home renovation that Hermione found for him. Ron’s shown some interest in them too, so the weekend finds the two men putting their learnings into practice.

As they get set up in the sitting room, Hermione fights back the urge to supervise, instead taking her book back to bed.

When she migrates back downstairs for lunch, she stops off in the sitting room to see how they’ve gotten on. The gloomy darkness has been replaced by an airy brightness. Several rollers are painting the walls a crisp white. The shag carpet has been removed, the floors returned to their original timber.

Harry and Ron are sitting together, pouring over one of the books.

“It’s looking good in here,” Hermione tells them.

They both look up.

“Thanks,” Harry says. “We just need new furniture now. We’re trying to work out if we can transfigure this stuff.”

Hermione crosses the room to them. “I think it should be possible,” she says.

Which is how she ends up helping with the rest of the renovations that weekend.

Hermione returns to the library on Monday. She hasn’t quite finished all of her books, but she returns the ones that she has, mostly as an excuse to show up.

“I have a proposition for you,” Lillian tells her once she’s finished returning Hermione’s books with a sweep of her wand. “Come into my office.”

Hermione follows her into the small room. She’s unsurprised to discover that it’s even more of a disaster than the issuing desk had ever been. After several moments of rearranging books and piles of paper, Lillian manages to uncover two chairs for them.

“One day, I’m going to retire,” she begins once they’ve both sat down. “And when that day comes, they’re going to need a new librarian. I think it should be you.”

“Oh,” Hermione says. She thinks she should be telling Lillian that she already has a job, but the words don’t want to form.

“I’m sure you’ll need to think about it,” Lillian continues. “But I think I could convince the Ministry to take you on in a part time role. Get the place tidied up and you trained up, ready to take over.”

“Really?” Hermione asks. “You want to hire me?”

“Of course. I can’t think of anyone who would be more suited to being a librarian. Although,” she adds, “I would understand if you’d rather continue working your way up the ranks in the Ministry.”

Two weeks ago, that’s absolutely what Hermione would have preferred. But now? Now she’s holding herself back from accepting the offer on the spot.

“I’ll have to think about it,” she tells Lillian. “I’ll let you know.”

“But you don’t actually know whether the Ministry will agree to it?” Ron asks, cautious, that evening, as the two of them get ready for bed.

“Well, no,” Hermione agrees. “But I’m sure they can be talked around.”

“So you’re going to quit your job?”

Hermione sinks down onto the bed. “Honestly? I’d be quitting regardless of whether I took this new job.”

Ron crosses the room to sit beside her. “You’re really that done with it?”

Hermione nods her head. It’s not until this moment that she’s consciously decided that she will quit, but she’s very much unsurprised by her decision.

“Ok,” Ron says. He kisses her forehead. “You’re going to be a great librarian.”

“Here’s hoping.”

When Hermione sends her resignation letter the next day, she receives a prompt reply, asking her when she can come in to do a handover. Just the thought of having to return to the office is enough to elicit a few tears.

Harry, sitting across the table from her, notices this. “What’s wrong?” he asks. He’s paused his renovations – now focussed on the kitchen – for long enough to have a cup of tea with her.

Hermione wordlessly hands the letter to him.

“Tell her she can sod off,” Harry says, when he’s finished reading.

“I can’t do that.” When Harry looks like he’s going to argue, she continues. “It wouldn’t be fair.”

“So what? Going back would be unfair to you.”

Hermione takes the letter back, reads it over again and wishes that things were as simple as Harry thinks they are.

“I’ll make you a deal,” Harry tells her. “If you refuse to do the handover, I’ll write and turn down the auror position.”

“Shouldn’t you be doing that regardless?”

Harry shrugs. “Well, yea, but I keep putting it off. This way, we both have an incentive.”

“I suppose,” Hermione concedes. She thinks it over for a moment. “Fine,” she says eventually. “But only if you go in and clear my desk for me.”

Judging by the look on his face, Harry is torn. Hermione knows that he’s worrying about how her colleagues – well, former colleagues – will respond to being in the presence of the Saviour of the Wizarding World. She considers relenting, but, really, he can’t spend his whole life as a hermit.

“Ok, deal,” Harry says. “Now get to writing.” He summons some parchment of his own.

Hermione starts her new job the next week. It’s only a few hours per day, but – in all honesty – she’s not sure that she could really handle much more. Most of her time is spent culling outdated books, but as the days pass, she gradually learns more and more of the other tasks required of a librarian.

After a few weeks, she suggests to Lillian that Harry could come in and help brighten up the place. Having made good progress at Grimmauld Place, his skills have become quite impressive. Privately, Hermione wonders if he’s found his new calling. His cheery disposition as he works in the library increases that wondering tenfold.

By the time Harry’s finished painting and transfiguring and doing Merlin knows what else, Hermione has finished her first round of culling and tidying. The library is unrecognisable. Gone is the tired, dusty old place Hermione first encountered. Instead, it’s now warm and inviting.

The changes don’t end there, either. Word quickly gets out, and the number of patrons increases dramatically. It’s no longer just the handful of regulars who stuck with Lillian through thick and thin. Soon, the library is a bustling hive of activity. The Ministry is even able to find more money to hire more staff.

Six months later, Lillian retires, and Hermione becomes the head librarian – although she still insists on only working parttime hours. As the days pass, she knows, without a doubt, that taking this job was absolutely the right choice. She belongs here far more than she ever did at her old job at the Ministry. Here, she doesn’t have to keep striving for bigger and better things. Here, she can just be.

That – it turns out – is more than enough for her.

**Author's Note:**

> I know that this might feel out of character for Hermione, but there is some logic behind it.   
> For a lot of us, as kids, we're placed in the same 'gifted' basket that Hermione is, with expectations heaped upon us. And then, at some point in adulthood, we fail. We realise that we're just like everyone else. And we don't know what to do with that.  
> But if Hermione can't live up to everyone's expectations, then maybe it's ok that we can't either.


End file.
